


Scream Wolf

by grangerinvestigations



Category: Scream (Movies), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Multi, POV Erica, POV Scott, Scream AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 11:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1385170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grangerinvestigations/pseuds/grangerinvestigations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's taken their love of werewolf movies one step too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scream Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SweetDee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetDee/gifts).



> Teen Wolf/Scream fusion written for ReelWolves and named with utmost cleverness.

Erica sang softly as she checked her hair in the hallway mirror one last time. Frizz was no one’s friend.

"Blue moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own."

She grinned a little as she smoothed the flyaway pieces down. Better to have all the singing out of her system before Boyd got there; nothing killed the mood faster than her seriously off-key warbling. He was indulging her by watching _An American Werewolf in London_ for the tenth time, so the least she could do was not destroy his hearing. True compromise at its finest; that’s what love was all about.

"Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for -"

The phone cut her off. Maybe Boyd had sensed the need for another singing intervention.

She didn't recognize the number on her cell, but her boyfriend lost his phone at least once a week; no doubt he had borrowed from one of the customers at the ice rink.

"Hello?"

"Is this King's?" a deep voice asked her. She sighed. It was extremely tempting to change her number, just so she wouldn't have to field pizza orders three times a week. The numbers were only off by one; coupled with her Boyd-induced reluctance to ignore unfamiliar numbers, she answered way more of these pizza inquiries than she would like. Sometimes she got annoyed enough to take an order that would never arrive, but she figured she could be nice tonight.

"Wrong number, dude, if this was King's I'd be chowing down right now."

"Oh, sorry."

"It happens. Take it easy."

Erica hung up, dropping her phone onto an end table and walked into the kitchen, still singing quietly. She grabbed a bag of M&MS - plain, God rest Boyd's boring little snacky soul - and put a bag of popcorn in the microwave. At least he let her get the extra butter, movie theater kind instead of stupid 94% fat free. Movie food was _supposed_ to be bad for you. Hopefully there was still a bag of Twizzlers in the pantry, too.

"And all the night's magic seems to whisper and hush, and all the soft moonlight -"

Her phone rang again.  Erica sighed; clearly the universe did not want her singing. She couldn't really blame it.

The same wrong number. She thought about letting it go to voice mail, then sighed again and answered.

"Still not King's."

That same deep voice - Erica would be lying if she didn't admit it was a _little sexy_ , even if it was pretty cheesy, too - said, "You seem more interesting than a large pepperoni."

Erica burst out laughing. "Oh my God, dude, that is the worst line I've ever heard."

The voice chuckled. "I bet you hear a lot of lines."

She snorted and rolled her eyes, while she opened up the pantry door and scanned for her candy. Damn. Looked like her father had cleaned her out. "Yep, about fifty times a day. Supermodel here, so I don't need to be chatting up some twelve year old with a voice modifier. It's probably past your bedtime, buddy."

"You got big plans?"

"I'm making dinner for my gentleman caller, so if you'll excuse me-" she heard the ding of the microwave behind her.

"Oooo, sounds fancy," the voice said with a teasing lilt. "Easy Mac or Lean Cuisines?"

Erica laughed again. "Okay, you got me, I'm making popcorn and I poured a bowl of M&MS. Gourmet all the way."

"Sounds like movie food. You sure you're not getting ready to cry over _The Notebook_? I could come over and keep you company, hold your hand during the weepy parts."

"I don't think my man piece would like that very much."

He laughed. "Man piece, really?"

"You wouldn't laugh if you saw him," Erica answered. She wasn't sure why she was still talking to Deep Voice, but it was kind of fun. "You’d shake in your size ten Keds; he’s a pretty big guy. And for your information, we're watching _An American Werewolf in London_.”

“Oh, I like that one,” Deep Voice said. “Do you like all horror movies, or is it limited to werewolves?”

“I like werewolves,” Erica replied. She balanced the phone under her chin and pulled the popcorn out of the microwave. “They’re my favorite monster.”

“Really? You know they’re a metaphor for sex, right?”

“Oh my God, everything is a metaphor for sex,” she said, rolling her eyes again. She wondered if he could sense it over the phone. Boyd probably would not appreciate that she was still talking to this random pervy pizza seeker. Good thing he wasn't there; in the grand scheme of things a little phone flirting was harmless, if still disapproval worthy.

“Is that your favorite werewolf movie?”

“It’s the best,” Erica said.

“What other ones do you like?”

“Hmmm,” she mused. “The _Underworld_ movies are okay, even though I usually don’t like vampires that much. _Ginger Snaps_ , of course. The original _Howling_ ’s not bad.”

“I’ll have to check them out. When I watch horror movies, they’re usually slashers.”

“I don’t like those as much,” Erica admitted. “Too realistic; I don’t like to think about crazy people. Give me a good old fashioned monster movie any day.”

“Interesting. What else do you like, Erica?”

She froze. “What did you say?”

Deep Voice paused. “I said, what else do you like?”

“That’s not what you said.” Her heart started beating wildly and she wondered if he could hear it over the phone. If he’d been a real werewolf, he would, it was that loud in her own ears. Erica looked around the kitchen, then walked over to the window and looked out. She lived on the edge of the Preserve; there was nothing but trees around her house. “I’ve got to go.”

“I thought we were talking,” Deep Voice answered. “Don’t hang up now.”

She ignored him, hanging up the phone and continuing her tour of the downstairs. She turned on some of the outside lights but didn’t see anything past the trees and shrubs that surrounded her house. Boyd really should have been here by now. She started to dial his number but was interrupted by her phone ringing again.

“Shit,” she breathed. It was Deep Voice. She contemplated not answering it, but maybe she would feel better if she told him off. “Look, creep, I don’t appreciate -”

“Hang up on me again and it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

Erica gasped, involuntarily backing against a wall. Tears sprung in her eyes.

“That’s right,” Deep Voice chuckled and it didn’t sound remotely amusing or sexy anymore. “Not so dismissive now, are we?”

“Is this a joke?”

“More of a game, really,” Deep Voice said. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. If you answer correctly, you might live to sing shitty moon songs another day.”

She could feel tears running down her face, but she shook her head, trying to remain calm. “Where are you?”

“That’s not the first question, blondie, you’ll have to be more patient.”

Erica crouched down, trying to remain out of sight through the window and crawled back into the kitchen. The idea that someone was watching her - had been watching her for some time - was both terrifying and _infuriating_. How _dare_ he? She couldn’t let him get the best of her. She kept the phone against her ear as she reached up and grabbed a butcher's knife from her dad’s fancy chef block. “I’m ready.”

“Good girl. First question - what’s the name of the Stephen King werewolf movie with the little boy in the wheelchair?”

“ _Silver Bulle_ t,” she burst out. She had just watched that movie again a few months ago. “It’s _Silver Bullet_.”

"There's my smart girl. And the book?"

" _Cy-cycle of the Werewolf_." Erica was under no illusions that answering the sick creep's questions would spare her life, but maybe she could keep him talking long enough for Boyd or her parents to get there. If nothing else, he was going to have a fight on his hands.

"Not bad," Deep Voice said. "You passed round one. Ready for the next round?"

"I'm ready for you to go fuck yourself, asshole." Erica crawled back out of the kitchen, trying to keep the front and back doors in her sight at all times. She wondered if she could make it upstairs, lock herself in her parents' room, hide under the bed, anything, really.

"Ugly words for such a pretty girl," the voice said, sounding _disappointed_ in her, of all fucking things. "Don't forget your manners. You want to do your best for round two. There's a special guest about to appear."

Erica knew, without a doubt, who he meant. Obviously the idea that something couldn’t get any worse was being thrown out the window. How could someone hate her this much?

“Ooo, I take it from your silence you’ve figured it out,” Deep Voice chuckled again, making her fight the urge to vomit. “Part two is more like parts two and three. Where’s your _man piece_ now, Reyes? And is he still alive?”

She could do this. She could. It wasn’t just her life in the balance now; Boyd was in danger as well. Anyone that could get the drop on her boyfriend was either very big or aided by weapons or drugs of some sort.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s still alive. I know he is.”

“Good girl! He is for now, anyway. I’m going to give you a hint about his whereabouts. Hang up the phone, but when I call you back you _better fucking answer_. Got it?”

“Yes,” she said again. She hung up the phone; instantly it dinged with an incoming picture. She opened the picture with shaking fingers, desperate to see Boyd but not wanting to see what ever pain he was experiencing.

Erica stared at the picture for a long moment, unable to do anything other than cry and clap her hand over her mouth. Her strong, handsome boyfriend was bound and gagged, his hands tied to a ceiling. It looked like he was hooked up to various wires and his eyes were wet; he was obviously in considerable pain. It was just as obvious that he was underneath her feet right now in her basement; how the _fuck_ had this creep set this nightmare up?

Her paralysis broke; Erica sprung to her feet and ran back to the kitchen, quickly yanking on the basement door. Her phone rang again and she shrieked, jumping back from the darkened stairs and borderline hyperventilating.

“You sick freak, what the hell are you doing? How did you get in my house? Let him go!”

“You sure you want to come down here, Erica darling? You could try going out the front door now that you know where I am. I can’t promise Boyd will live, but you probably will. Or I can give you a five minute head start to get him out. You both might make it, or you both might die. Your choice, blondie.”

There was no choice. If there was even a chance she could save Boyd, she had to try. Erica clicked on the light and raced down the stairs, shouting again when she saw Boyd. She could see him breathing, but it looked like he had passed out from the pain. She ran to him, tried to loosen his binds and jumped back when it shocked her. She looked around wildly for the source of electricity and followed the cords to a generator in the corner. She didn’t have time to wonder again how the hell Deep Voice had orchestrated this nightmare before she felt a blow to the head. Then darkness.

She awoke some time later to find herself gagged, her hands suspended from the ceiling. She looked over at Boyd, met his wet, miserable eyes and decided she was glad, anyway, that she had tried. A figure came out of the corner, werewolf mask and black robe mocking her. Then there was pain. Then nothing.

X X X X

Scott McCall leaned against the pillow on his bed, idly tossing a lacrosse ball back and forth in his hand and feeling sorry for himself. He had at least a half an hour of reading for English but he was putting it off as long as possible. He wondered if he could skip school tomorrow; with his father leaving in the morning, it wasn’t like he would know anyway. He really didn’t feel like dealing with all the sympathetic stares he would be getting. It was one thing for his friends to be concerned, but he couldn’t handle pity from strangers. The actual anniversary wasn’t until Thursday, but he knew the days leading up to the date would include louder whispers and speculation. A year later, and his mother’s gruesome murder was still the biggest story their small town had ever seen. He looked over at the picture on his dresser; his mother smiled brightly out at him, unaware that she had a month to live. Scott blinked back tears as he heard his computer beep with an incoming Skype. He got up and moved to his desk. Stiles. Of course.

Instead of hello, he got, “What would you think about me and Derek using your house for our clandestine meetings?”

“I’d say you’re disgusting and that Derek is twenty-six years old and needs his own fucking apartment,” Scott told his friend, smiling despite himself.  

“Don’t I know it,” Stiles sighed. “You know he thinks he has to stay home with his mom and Lydia, especially now. If it didn’t interfere in my sex life I’d probably think highly of it. Of course, he also likes having his mom do his laundry and buy him Frosted Flakes, the overgrown baby. If I were him, I’d rather wear dirty socks and eat plastic if it meant I didn’t have to live with one Lydia Martin-Hale, no offense.”

“What’s wrong with your house?” Scott asked, trying to cut him off before he went on another Lydia tangent. Despite the fact that he dated her brother, and shared Scott as a best friend, Lydia had little use for Stiles and vice versa. Scott had said a million times that Stiles was simply irritated both at sharing his favorite people and the fact that Lydia was smarter than he was, but Stiles wouldn’t admit it. He claimed strawberry-blonde hair gave him hives.

“You know how weird Derek gets at the thought of banging his boss’s son in his boss’s house,” Stiles answered, successfully diverted. “I tried to convince him it was hot, but to no avail. Besides, I’m staying with you this week, remember? I promised _your_ dad.”

“I don’t need a babysitter anymore, Stiles.”

“Yeah, I’m not getting paid, dude. Also, I have to work some this week, so I’m bringing Greenberg home with me.”

“Ew, really?” Scott said, wrinkling his nose. “Aren’t there any other camera men in your graduate classes? Why do you always work with that guy? He always seems really red-faced and sweaty. Lydia said he stares at her chest, too.”

“Unfortunately, he’s a great cameraman, so what can I do?” Stiles said. “I’ll tell him to keep his eyes off the jailbait, though, I don’t want to piss Derek or Lydia off anymore than I usually do. You know I’m interviewing Peter again this weekend, right? We talked about this.” Stiles shot him a guilty look, but he looked determined to carry out his assignment all the same.

Scott sighed, his Stiles-induced good mood wilting. Peter Hale was in jail for the murder of his mother. He also happened to be Derek and Lydia’s only uncle, their mother's adored baby brother. Peter maintained his innocence, and Scott himself had always been slightly skeptical about his guilt. He had grown up going to barbecues with the man, for goodness sake. Their families had always been close, and the idea that Peter would suddenly snap and hurt the woman he had flirted harmlessly with for years was almost impossible to believe. Still, the evidence was there. Usually, Scott just avoided the topic with Lydia and Derek, and Stiles, too, really.  It was a mess.

“I know,” Scott said. “I don’t really want to hear about it, though, okay? If there are some brilliant new revelations, then fine, but otherwise, just keep it to yourself.”

“Of course,” Stiles agreed. Scott could see him square his shoulders, one of his classic ‘I’m going to change the subject now’ moves. “Hey, do you think I can convince Derek to screw me while he’s wearing his uniform? He’s been holding out all these years and I want it.”

“I think you should see a therapist about your Oedipal issues,” Scott retorted. He could always count on Stiles to distract him with grody Derek sex stories. He’d been doing it ever since he was Scott’s starry-eyed fifteen-year-old babysitter with a crush on his Sheriff father’s youngest deputy. Nothing had changed in the past seven years other than the fact that as soon as Stiles turned eighteen, Derek declared his own reciprocal feelings. Scott had been twelve at the time and frankly too young to hear about all the sex they were having, but that was Stiles for you. The two of them were, frankly, nauseating. “Or I guess Electra complex.”

“Don’t be jealous of our love, Scott,” Stiles said. “You could have your own cute boyfriend if you wanted. I know Isaac is still pining for you.”

Scott shook his head. “I’m good, thanks. Allison is all I can handle at a time, and I don’t  know if I could keep up with all of Isaac’s movie references.”

“The fact that you still haven’t seen Star Wars haunts me,” Stiles replied. “How is Allison? Derek said he hasn’t seen her at the house as much lately. Are she and Lydia fighting? Has she heard from her mother at all?”

Scott shrugged. “She got a card for her birthday, but nothing else. Ally doesn’t talk about it much.”

That was an understatement. Allison practically went non-verbal anytime anyone mentioned her parents’ divorce or her mother leaving town. It had been over a year, not long before his own mother was murdered. It had been hard for them to comfort one another through their respective tragedies, but they had emerged stronger than ever, and after three years together, Scott could honestly say he didn’t know what he’d do without her. “She and Lydia are fine, I think. You know she can only take so much of Jackson.”

“Ugh, same,” Stiles said, mock-shivering at the thought of Lydia’s lacrosse star boyfriend. “Okay, I gotta go. I should probably interact with some people my own age before I come home tomorrow and get involved in your high school drama and Derek’s old man drama. There’s never a happy medium.” He clicked off.

Scott was still staring at the screen blankly, lost in thought, several minutes later when there was a knock on his bedroom door. He sighed loudly and got up to answer it.

“Dad, I said I was - Allison.” He stared dumbly at his girlfriend. She gave him a huge grin and hopped on to his bed, leaning against the pillows.

“Your dad let me in,” she said. “I love those double standards for teenage boys.”

He smiled and went to join her, stretching out next to her and kissing her deeply. “What about your dad? Am I going to get a gun in my face soon? It’s after twelve.”

“Snuck out,” Allison said smugly. “Dad had an extra Scotch at dinner; I figured I was safe.”

“He’s not drinking a lot, is he?” Scott asked, worried. Mr. Argent scared him a little; he always seemed cool and collected, with ice blue eyes and an insincere smile. He also looked like he wished he had a weapon in his hand at all times. Mrs. Argent had been even scarier. How the two of them produced sweet, dimpled Allison he had never understood, although she was pretty deadly with a crossbow herself.

“Not really,” she said, shrugging off his concern. “Just a little more every once in awhile.” She leaned over and gave him another kiss. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. I can handle my dad.”

“I don’t know how I got mixed up with such a daddy’s girl,” he teased her. “Between you and Stiles I feel like I’m in some creepy Southern Gothic tale.”

“Gross!” she said, pulling away and laughing. “Trust me, Scott, you are nothing like my dad, you don’t have to worry about my issues. I think you might be right about Stiles, though. I saw Derek and the Sheriff at lunch together the other day, and when they got up from the table, they both adjusted their belts in the same exact way. It was _cree_ -py.”

“Ha! I’ll be sure to tell him that when he comes tomorrow night,” Scott said. He pulled her in for another kiss, marveling as always that she was able to instantly gauge his mood and lift his spirits.

Before he could deepen the kiss she rolled away from him, climbing back to her feet and heading for the door.

“I’m pretty sure your dad’s leniency will only go so far,” she explained apologetically. She blew him a kiss. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

He nodded. “Love you.” She gave him a little wave and left and Scott drifted slowly off to sleep, feeling better than he had all day.

X X X X

Scott was used to Lydia calling in the morning; his friend seemed to wake up each day fully rested and ready to boss anyone and everyone around. It was annoying on the best of days, especially since Scott himself didn’t really wake up until second period, no matter how much coffee or how many early morning lacrosse practices Coach threw at them. Thank God it was the off season.

This morning was no different. "Hey, can I get a ride this morning?" Scott was ałready heading out the door when she called, sounding, as usual, irritatingly competent if not chipper. "Derek is still at work and my mom has the other car."

"Of course," he agreed. He shrugged on his jacket and locked the door behind him; his father had left by four that morning and Stiles wouldn't be over until later that night. "What's going on that Derek is still out? Did Stiles come home early? Maybe they're out parking somewhere. It would not be the first time."

"Gross, but no. It's bad, actually, I overheard the whole thing when the Sheriff called him in. I'll tell you when you get here.” She hung up without saying goodbye - her standard practice - and Scott shivered slightly. He’d had more than enough bad news in the last year.

She was already waiting for him on the porch when he pulled up to her house, which was not SOP for Ms. Lydia Martin-Hale. People waited on _her_ , not the other way around. She ran up to the car and hopped in before he even came to a complete stop. Something definitely had her riled up.

“Finally! You will not believe what happened,” Lydia said. “I’d almost say we should stay home today, but I want to see what people are saying when we get to school.”

“Stop keeping me in suspense!” Scott admonished as he started driving toward their school. “What happened?”

“Erica Reyes and Vern Boyd were murdered last night.”

“What the fuck?” Scott screeched. He swerved wildly, barely missing a parked car before regaining control. “Are you serious?”

“Like I would joke about something like that,” Lydia answered coolly. “I listened in, of course, when the Sheriff called the house. I don’t know why he still calls Derek on the landline, but it means I get to hear everything. They were found in her basement, strung up and electrocuted. They think they were tortured first, too."

“Jesus!”

“I know, it’s so sad,” Lydia said, actually sounding sincere. “Her parents were the ones that found them, and it sounds like Mrs. Reyes had to be sent to the hospital for shock. It’s really awful, they were so nice! I don’t know if they have any leads, the Sheriff didn’t get that far. I’m sure I can get more from Derek, and you can pump Stiles for information - you know Derek always blabs everything to him, even though it pisses his dad off when he sticks his nose into everything.”

"Do we really want to know anything?"

Lydia looked at him with her familiar "why aren't you as smart as I am" look. "Yes, we want to know. I for one would like to know if this is an isolated incident or if I have to start checking my basement for serial killers."

"I guess you're right," Scott said. They drove the rest of the way to school in silence. He pulled into a spot in the back parking lot, wanting to avoid the nasty gossip they would no doubt be hearing soon. Lydia gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze before getting out of the car. He followed her in somewhat of a daze to their shared first period. He could tell that the news had leaked by the excited buzz in the hallways but he tried to keep his ears clear. He didn't want to hear people talk about his mom and he definitely didn't want to hear the eager speculation about Erica and Boyd. These were their fellow students, people they _knew_ , not anonymous news bulletins, but no one else seemed to share his views, not even his friends.

"Did the cops interview you?" Jackson asked them at lunch. They were outside at their usual table. "Derek actually asked me if I took auto shop, like what the fuck? I think your brother knows me a bit better than that."

Lydia shrugged. "They can't show favoritism, Jackson. They have questions they have to ask, you know that. He asked me about the fact that you and Erica went out a couple times while we were on a break. I think the implication was that I killed her in a jealous rage or maybe you did. Never mind the fact that he saw both of us watching TV at his own house last night. I love him, but he just doesn't know how to veer from the script, you know?"

Isaac nodded. "Yeah, I got the auto shop question, too. Does that mean we know how to hook up people to a generator or something? He also asked me about Erica dumping Jackson for Boyd. If you ask me, he'd love for you to be guilty, Jackson. Then he wouldn't have to walk in on you banging his sister." He mock shivered at the mental image.

"I dumped Erica to get back together with Lydia," Jackson corrected. "Get your story straight. Besides, that was over a year ago." Lydia nodded, shaking back her hair as if there wasn’t a possible situation where anyone would chose someone else over her.

Scott leaned against Allison, trying to ignore them all. His own interview had been short, Derek seeming reluctant to ask him anything other than how well he knew the victims, as if they ceased to have other identities as soon as they were killed. They were probably pulling in almost everyone who knew Erica and Boyd, which would be a large part of their small high school, but Scott could tell the police didn't know much. It seemed they never did.

"Can you imagine the scandal?" Isaac asked. "Just think, his little sister’s boyfriend murdering all of his classmates." Jackson rolled his eyes and gave him a half-hearted shove, but Isaac continued. "Derek'd have to resign, it's bad enough they have a killer in the fam - shit! I'm sorry, Scott, I wasn't thinking." Isaac looked horrified at his slip and huddled in on himself when Allison fixed him with a look.

"How about you guys shut the hell up and show some respect?" she demanded, hugging Scott to her. "Isaac, I know you were friendly with both Boyd and Erica. Maybe act like it."

“Sorry,” Isaac mumbled again. He never could stand up to anyone else’s anger directed at him, a product, Scott knew, of living with his short-tempered father. Away from his father he was sarcastic and quick-witted, full of pop culture references and snarky observations; he was a lot like Stiles, actually. He also had a not-at-all disguised crush on Scott. Luckily, Isaac wasn’t particularly embarrassed by it, and neither Scott nor Allison thought it was weird; all three of them were used to the good-natured teasing about it. At times like this, though, Scott could tell Isaac’s feelings for him were deeper than even he let on; he looked devastated to have upset Scott by alluding to his mother.

“It’s alright,” Scott told him, reaching over and patting his hand. “It’s hard not to try to make light of situations like this. It’s easier than dwelling on how horrible everything is.”

Isaac gave him a grateful smile. “I need to learn to shut my mouth. I think I’ve been talking to Stiles too much.”

“No arguments here,” Allison said, but she too smiled to show there were no hard feelings. It was one of the things Scott loved about her; she could never stay angry for long.

“Speaking of Stiles,” Jackson said. “He’s going to be pissed about this murder. It’ll cut down on all his Derek boning time. I can’t wait until he graduates so they can be together all the time. Maybe then the shine will wear off.”

“No, he’ll probably cream at the thought of another story he can latch onto. He'll probably just offer Derek extra blow jobs in exchange for the inside scoop, since his father won't ever tell him anything. He’s bound and determined to make a name for himself before he even graduates. Fucking lost cause, if you ask me, but maybe he’ll finally leave Peter alone.” Lydia’s tone was light, but Scott knew how much it bothered her, to think of Peter as a killer, let alone his alleged victim being her best friend’s mother. Scott had no idea how they all had survived the last year, and now this tragedy on top of everything else. Fucking Beacon Hills. It was obviously cursed.

X X X X

Scott barely noticed the rest of the day going by. It seemed like he blinked and was back home again. There was a note from his father on the counter, reminding him to call once a day, do his homework, change his underwear, eat his vegetables and brush his teeth. Well, that was a bit unfair, he knew. Having his father back in his life full time had been another fallout of his mother's death. Neither of them really knew how to exist in the same space anymore. His father was attempting to make up almost ten years of part-time and no-time parenting and Scott wasn't always in the mood for it. They were both trying, though.

_Better get it over with_. Scott dialed his father's cell phone and was simultaneously pissed and relieved when he got his voicemail. "I don't know why you told me to call if you're not going to leave your phone on. I'll text you before I go to bed."

His next call was to Stiles.

"Hey, buddy, I'm running late," he said in lieu of a greeting. "I'm going to take dinner over to the station for Dad and Derek. I know they're working their asses off. What a thing to happen! I was with Derek one time when he busted Boyd and Erica for making out in her car. She was so sassy about it! And you know Boyd's sister was abducted when he was just a kid. That poor family. Maybe Mrs. Boyd and Mrs. Reyes will talk to me since they know me and dad. I can be more sympathetic than your average reporter. I've got to drop Greenberg off at the Holiday Inn, too, so I'm not sure what time I'll be over. But not too late!"

With that, he hung up without Scott speaking one word. Shaking his head ruefully, Scott headed into the kitchen to make a snack while he _did his homework_. His dad would be so proud. He decided to work downstairs to avoid distractions, another thing his father harped on whenever he caught Scott goofing off in his bedroom when he should be working.

Forty minutes later he was putting the finishing touches on his _Inherit the Wind_ paper. Probably not an A, but he figured Ms. Blake would give him a solid B for his effort, especially if he had Stiles read over it later. Or maybe not; Stiles remained suspicious of Ms. Blake a good ten years after her high school romance with Derek and would probably find some way to sneak in an insult to her. College student or not, Stiles Stilinski was not known for his maturity, especially when it came to Derek Hale. Hell, Lydia and Jackson broke up once a semester and they probably had a more adult relationship than Derek and Stiles, who in almost five years hadn't made it past the must-grope-at-all-times stage. Stiles was also convinced every woman under the age of sixty was after his man, and some of the grandmothers, too. While he was undoubtedly right about some of them (objectively, Scott could recognize that Derek was unreasonably hot), Derek's own obsession with Stiles was well-known in town. Scott had no idea how the sheriff put up with the both of them. Scott liked to think his own perhaps _slightly_ codependent relationship with Allison was adorable instead of icky like Stiles and Derek.

A loud thump above his head knocked him out of his Derek and Stiles distraction. A thump followed by what sounded like something dragging across the floor, then a loud slam. His room was right above the den where was he typing his paper; maybe he had left a window open?

It was hard not to think about Boyd and Erica as he cautiously made his way up the stairs. His mother sprang to mind, too; wasn't "investigating a strange noise" the number one cause of death in horror movies?

He was right to trust his instincts. An 8x10 black and white photograph was lying on his bed, next to a wolf mask. It showed Erica, looking terrified, crying and clutching a phone to her ear. A butcher's knife was stabbed through the middle of the mask and scrawled across the picture in red ink the ominous message: **_You're Next_**. Pink rose petals were stuffed into the wolf’s mouth, along with what looked like another picture. With shaking hands, Scott  pulled the photo out of the mouth, somehow knowing what he would see. His mother.

X X X X

"It's almost hard to take seriously," Stiles said, his arm slung around Scott's shoulder. "I mean, 'You're Next' with rose petals? A gigantic knife? A freaking _werewolf_ mask? It's like some lame Lifetime stalker movie."

He, Scott and Lydia were sitting on a bench outside the sheriff's office. Scott had already sat through an interview with both the sheriff and Derek, and he still had ink on his fingers from his fingerprinting "for exclusionary purposes." Stiles had arrived at his house thirty seconds after the sheriff, falling over himself to apologize about not being there. He had talked his father into letting him drive Scott to the station in his jeep and had called Lydia on the way. The two of them hadn't left his side since.

“I’m taking it pretty seriously,” Scott told him. “It’s hard not to, with the _freaking crime photos_. That picture was taken the day my mom died, Stiles. I would never forget what she was wearing that day. And it was clear she had no idea someone was taking a picture. It was in the preserve, too, miles from where her body was found. Your dad always said he thought Peter moved her body, but they couldn’t find where he killed her. That picture could be the answer. Not to mention the shot of Erica! The killer must have had a camera set up in her house!”

“He thought the _killer_ moved the body, not necessarily Peter,” Lydia cut in. “This _proves_ he didn’t do it! Peter’s in jail right now, he can’t be setting up cheesy tableaux like that.”

“So you think the same person killed Erica and Boyd?” Stiles asked her, moving his arm away from Scott. “Why? And why now? Why Scott?”

“Erica’s house is in the preserve,” Lydia pointed out. “Obviously the killer thought she saw something. I mean, she probably would have said something, but maybe she didn’t realize it at the time. Killing her now makes the two incidences look removed from one another. Scott’s probably just another loose end.”

“If that were true, why is the killer drawing attention to the connection now? Why put the pictures together at all? Why not just kill Scott when he was in the house instead of leaving the stupid clues?”

“Gee, thanks, buddy,” Scott said. “And here I wasn’t freaked out enough.”

“Killers are assholes,” Lydia said. “They do stupid things because they think they’re smart and then they get caught. The guy’s probably congratulating himself on scaring Scott half to death and he’ll trip up eventually.”

“In the meantime, Peter will be executed and I’ll be dead, so I’d appreciate it if he hurried up his little game,” Scott grumbled. “And has anyone been able to get in touch with my dad?”

“Not yet,” the Sheriff said, coming out of his office with Derek. Stiles got up to stand close to his father and boyfriend, grabbing Derek’s hand in his own. “We’ve tried his cell phone, his work and the hotel he gave you. He never checked in and he hasn’t checked in at work, either. Are you sure that’s where he said he was staying? ”

“Yes, he told me like five times. How does an FBI agent vanish?” Scott asked him. “Can’t they put a trace on his phone or something?”

“It’s been done,” the Sheriff answered. “I’m sorry, buddy, that’s the best we can do right now. I know you’re worried, but I’ll let you know as soon as something turns up.”

“He’s probably dead,” Scott muttered. No one was stupid enough to rise to that bait right now, but he could feel the sympathetic looks they were giving him. “Can we go? I want to call Allison and go to sleep.”

“You’re not going home,” said Derek. “It’s not safe for either one of you and the Sheriff will be working most of the night so you shouldn't go there. Come home with us. You can share Lydia’s room or the guest room. I already called mom; she said you could invite Allison to stay if you wanted, too.”

Scott nodded. “Thank you, Derek.”

“What about Jackson?” Lydia asked.

“Not a chance.” Derek crossed his arms, looking eerily like the Sheriff, but this time Scott wasn’t amused by the idea.

Lydia sighed the sigh of the long suffering but nodded to her brother. She took Scott's hand and hauled him up from the bench.

"I couldn't reach Allison earlier and when I called her house her dad said she was out," Lydia said. "I told him what happened and he also said she could spend the night. Call her again. Stiles, no talking about Peter, Erica, or your plans to mine your friends' and family's woes for your future career and no doubt shitty true crime novels. You better not let that Greenberg character into my house, either, or I will punch you both. No offense, Sheriff."

Sheriff Stilinski shrugged as if he was used to people threatening his son.

Scott pulled his phone out but before he could call Allison it rang. Unknown caller. Maybe his dad had lost his phone or gotten into an accident? He pushed speaker. "Dad?"

"Not quite, Scotty boy," a deep, unfamiliar voice said. "Did you like my presents? That mask was the last thing Erica and her _man piece_ ever saw. Don't worry. I have another one to wear when we hang out. See, Erica liked werewolves the best, but you strike me as more of a sports movie type of guy. Maybe I'll beat you to death with a lacrosse stick, how does that sound? Give my best to Stiles and Lydia. I'll be seeing all of you soon.”

Scott was shaking by the time the voice hung up. He looked around and saw identical expressions of shock and horror on everyone’s faces.

Sheriff Stilinksi was the first to break the silence. “Jesus.” He wiped a shaky hand across his face.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. He seemed incapable of more.

“Give me your phone, Scott,” the sheriff ordered. “It’s evidence now, while we try to trace the call. I’ve no doubt it’ll turn out to be a dead end, just like Erica’s, but we have to try. Derek, I’m sending Parrish and Tara over to watch the outside of your house. Stay inside and keep your phone and gun with you at all times. Set the alarm, tell you mother what’s happening, but other than that, not a word. That goes for you three, too. I know you want to talk to Allison, Scott, but she needs to stay at her house tonight. Her father can keep her safe if she’s a target as well. You can call her, but that’s it.”

Scott nodded, unable to speak. How was this happening to them?

“Sheriff, you should probably call the Whittemores, too, just to be on the safe side,” Derek said. “Maybe Mr. Lahey, as well. If Scott and his friends are the targets, they’re going to be in danger.”

The Sheriff nodded. “Any one else?”

“Danny Mahealani,” Lydia said, her voice betraying just the slightest of quivers.

“Greenberg,” Stiles cut in. “I know you guys can’t stand him, but he always works with me on my stories, and we’ve done a lot of interviews together about Peter and Mrs. McCall. Anyone who pays attention would have him in their cross-hairs, too.”

“He’s probably safe at the hotel, but give him a call to warn him against answering the door to strangers,” his father said. “Okay, this makes things a little more dangerous, but at least this asshole is putting us on alert. I’m going to institute a town wide curfew starting tomorrow. To school, then home, _no exceptions_. Stiles I want you at the station tomorrow, understand?”

Stiles gave a little salute, then grabbed Derek’s hand again. “Alright, big guy, get us out of here.”

Scott was in the Martin-Hale guest room (he couldn't stand the idea of sharing with Lydia that night, knowing she would want to talk things over) before he could get in touch with Allison.

"Where have you been all night? I've been going crazy!"

"I know, my dad told me everything, I am so sorry," she said. "Aunt Kate came in unexpectedly and I went to have dinner with her. Didn't my dad tell you that?"

"I didn't actually talk to him, Lydia did," Scott said, all of his misplaced anger draining out of him. "She didn't say anything, so he probably didn't volunteer the info. Don't tell Stiles she's in town if you can avoid it. You know how he gets. We don’t need anymore chaos than we already have."

"I'll do what I can, but no promises," Allison said. "He needs to grow up anyway, it's been years now. But how are _you_ doing?"

"Trying not to freak out, honestly," Scott admitted. "I feel better talking to you. It's really just unbelievable. No one can get in touch with my dad, and you know agents can't just go AWOL like that. I'm trying not to assume the worst, but what else can I do? And that picture was awful - Erica looked _so scared_. And my mom? I just don't know what to think. I wish you could come over."

"Me too. Maybe we can work on Talia, the sheriff and my dad for tomorrow night."

"That would make me feel a lot better," Scott said. "They're being strong for me, but I know Stiles, Derek and Lydia are freaking out, too. Jackson will probably lose his mind when she tells him what happened. Or at least seem mildly put out."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Try not to worry too much tonight. You don't want to bring on an asthma attack."

"I doubt I'll even sleep. But I love you."

"You too."

She hung up. Scott looked at the phone in his hand for a long time before stowing it on the bedside table and turning off the light. Sleep was a long time coming, and when he finally drifted off, he dreamed of wolves.

X X X X

"Fuck the curfew," Jackson said. "You're all coming over to my house tonight for a party." He leaned back and surveyed his friends as if that were the final word on the matter.

"Yeah, that's going to go over well when we're being targeted by a psycho killer," Lydia said. "Let me just call my mom and tell her. I’m sure she’ll bring the chips."

“Don’t be like that,” Jackson whined. “I know you can get your way if you really want to come.”

Scott tuned the two of them out as they sniped back and forth, grateful for the brief respite his lunch (half) hour was giving him. If Scott thought people were overly invested in his life before, it was nothing to how this day had gone so far. All morning the halls had parted for him as if he were contagious, and those who weren't avoiding him were pumping him for information on "how it felt to be almost brutally murdered." He had no idea how the news had spread so fast, but considering that Jackson was a bigger neb nose than Gossip Girl, he had a pretty good guess.

Isaac and Allison had apparently taken over from Stiles and Lydia as his personal bodyguards. They had been sticking to him as close as possible, even trying to escort him to his chemistry lab. That had, of course, gone over like the proverbial lead balloon: if there was one person who didn't give a shit his life was in danger it was Mr. Adrian Harris.

"I don't care how famous you are, Mr. McCall, you can attend my chemistry class without an entourage. Miss Argent, Mr. Lahey, find an elsewhere to be before you land in detention. Oh, and if I get so much as a whiff of Mr. Stilinski in this school, or anywhere on the property, it won't matter who his father is, do I make myself clear?"

Apparently the four years since Stiles had graduated were not enough to cure Mr. Harris's deep hatred of him. Scott assumed Harris's bad attitude toward himself was little more than guilt by association, so he usually kept his head down as much as possible for the forty-five minutes they spent in each other’s company.

Scott had nodded meekly and shuffled to his seat, trying to once again ignore the stares and whispers. Luckily his lab partner was fellow lacrosse player Danny; he was good at projecting an aura of “fuck off, plebes,” even while flashing his Allison-worthy dimples. He seemed unbothered that he might also be a target, but Danny was famously hard to rattle; being friends with Jackson had given him a thick skin and a low tolerance for bullshit.

“Then it’s settled,” Jackson said. “Be at my house at six tonight, that way no one can bitch that we’re not following the curfew. Bring stuff to sleep over. Food and drinks, too. I’m not getting everything myself.”

“Wait, what?” Scott asked, easing back into the conversation. “Are you serious? There’s no way that’s going to fly, Jackson. The sheriff will have a conniption.”

“Safety in numbers, McCall,” Jackson said. “Besides, my parents are going out of town. They couldn’t reschedule, so they said to have people over ‘for their peace of mind.’ I wonder if their peace of mind includes free reign of the liquor cabinet.”

“My dad would love to get me out of his hair so count me in,” Isaac said. “He’s decided that if I’m a pansy enough to get caught by a serial killer, I deserve it. At least that’s what I gathered from our father-son talk last night.” Isaac put on his patented “don’t care” smirk and slapped Jackson on the shoulder. “At least your parents care enough to leave town so they don’t have to watch you get sliced and diced. My dad’ll just dig the grave and move on.”

“That’s why we’re getting you drunk tonight, good sir,” Jackson said. “When the going gets tough, the tough gets drunk. I bet some lame ass serial killer isn’t going to try to stab you if you’re puking all over his workman’s boots.”

“Good thinking,” Isaac nodded. “Or maybe I’ll get so drunk I’ll pass out and he’ll think I’m already dead.”

“You two are idiots, and you’re not funny,” Allison said.

“Lighten up, Ally!” Isaac said. “So we’re all going to be murdered - the least we can do is have one more party, right? I say we fire up some old school slasher movies, break open several cases of cheap beer and go out with a bang. Or stabbing, or - what did the call say? He was going to beat you to death? Seriously, Scott, it would take a while to beat you to death with a lacrosse stick. You’d be able to get away. Also I think he needs to stick to a genre. This is not a choose your own adventure book, where you can die in any number of horrific ways. Pick a weapon and commit to it.”

Scott knew that Isaac was trying to distract him; for all the jokes he was making, he had looked beyond relieved to see Scott unscathed this morning and had barely left his side (Harris’s class notwithstanding). He was making light because he didn’t know what else to do. Jackson truly did get _his_ dickbag reputation honestly; he was probably as little bothered by the murders and threats as he would be a key scratch on his Porsche. Less, probably. That Porsche was his baby. Lydia was a close second, certainly, but she _was_ second.

Lydia, for all her feigned nonchalance, was worried and upset, but she would try her hardest not to crack, if only to seem as even-keeled as Jackson. Scott wondered about Allison, though. Usually she was an open book to him, but as supportive as she’d been the last few days, he felt something was slightly off. Maybe all this was reminding her of her own broken family.

“What did your aunt want?” he asked her, remembering the reason for her absence last night. Chris’s much younger sister Kate was the black sheep of the Argent family, but she and Allison had always been close, though their relationship had been a bit strained since her mother left. Like every other non-Allison person in the Argent family, she scared Scott to death. Only her grandfather Gerard beat Kate for ability to terrorize. Her relationship with Derek had been both volatile and short-lived, lasting the last nine months before Stiles turned eighteen. To say she was bitter about her unceremonious dumping was an understatement. Everyone knew the Stiles-shaped effigy left burning on Derek’s front lawn had been from Kate, but she was as careful as she was devious and it had been impossible to prove. Only Allison ever gave her the benefit of the doubt, and that was mainly to blame it on medication she had now supposedly stabilized. Scott thought it was probably a good thing for Kate that Allison was her alibi, considering the threats had extended to Stiles. She would have no reason to target Erica and Boyd, though, and certainly not his mother. She hadn’t even been in town last year when she had been killed.

“She’s just checking in,” Allison answered.

“On Derek?” Lydia asked archly.

“Oh my God, she didn’t even mention Derek, you guys are the worst,” Allison groaned. “You know, she actually cares what happens to me. That mess with Derek and Stiles was years ago. She’s in therapy and it is really working for her. She’s not interested in starting shit.”

“Right now,” Lydia said under her breath, but she wisely let it drop.

“Your aunt Kate is hot,” Isaac said. “I feel like I could really explore the wonderful world of bisexuality with her, especially if she brought along one of those biker boys of hers I see on Facebook. She likes younger guys, doesn’t she? I feel like I could handle her particular brand of crazy.”

“I don’t think that much younger, sweetie,” Allison said. “I'm slightly disturbed at the amount of thought you've put into it, but she'll appreciate the ego boost."

_Not that she needs it_ , Scott thought. He was smart enough not to say it out loud, though.

“Lydia, just make sure your brother and Stiles come tonight,” Jackson said, turning the conversation back to his party. “No one’s parents can object if they’re there, and it’ll give Derek a break from the investigation. Stiles’s creepy camera man can even come.”

“I guess they would be alright with that,” Lydia acquiesced. “Derek will grumble, but he’ll agree for Stiles’s sake. I’m sure Stiles will want to interview some people himself tonight. He’s so predictable. He reminds me of that creepy Freddy Lounds from _Red Dragon_ sometimes. Way too interested in the story, not enough in the people involved, even when it’s his own friends and family.”

“That’s not fair,” Scott protested. “He cares, and you know it. He’s just ambitious.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “We’ll see. Make sure you get him to pay us the big royalties when he sells this story in a few years. And no crappy novelizations, either. I'm not giving him a chance to change me to some schlubby _blonde_. Can you imagine anything worse?"

"Yeah, I can," Isaac said. "Let's hope you're not in the victims’ pile."

X X X X

Scott had no idea how so many people in their senior class had convinced their parents that a party at Jackson's house - not close to any other houses, no parental supervision - was a good idea, but obviously they all had powers of persuasion he himself did not possess. If his father were around, there would not have even been a discussion about going to Jackson’s. Derek and Stiles, much more likely to be having sex than supervising, would not be acceptable chaperones in his dad’s eyes, and at this moment, Scott would much rather have his dad than anything else, especially if it meant an entire evening of pretending everything was fine.

Jackson’s house was made for parties - it was large enough to accommodate the thirty or so of their classmates that were there, while still feeling welcoming and homey. Scott knew Mrs. Whittemore had spent a fortune on decorators to ensure that very atmosphere. Mr. Whittemore was Peter’s lawyer, but his dealings with Scott had always been kind and fair. They doted on Jackson, but it was no secret that their respective jobs took them away from home quite a bit. This made it easy for Jackson to cement his role as Party King of BHHS. His parties were borderline legendary - full of music, dancing, alcohol and other shenanigans, but the police were never called. Scott had certainly enjoyed his fair share of Jackson’s parties, but tonight it just felt wrong. How on earth could everyone act as if nothing was different?

“So what are watching first?” Isaac addressed the crowded living room, “ _Nightmare on Elm Street_ or _Scream_?” He whipped the DVDs from behind his back one at a time, wiggling them enticingly to the hoots of their classmates. Scott knew that living with his father had given  Isaac lots of practice acting like everything was fine, but it was still disconcerting to see him putting on such a show. Seriously, what was wrong with everyone?

“Sure we can’t just watch _Finding Nemo_?” Scott muttered from his perch next to Allison. They were cuddled up on a loveseat at the far end of the room. She squeezed his hand and leaned over to kiss his forehead. She, at least, seemed to appreciate the gravity of recent events. Her steadiness and support had been a godsend the last few days, even if he couldstill tell something was slightly off. Of course, how could it not be?

“We could watch _Jaws_ ,” Isaac said, smirking slightly at Scott. He had forgotten Isaac’s ridiculous hearing. “Is that enough of a compromise?”

“Oh, yeah, _Jaws_!” Stiles piped up. He looked barely older than the teenagers in the room, clad in plaid, jeans and Converse. Greenberg sat next to him, looking, as always, slightly flustered and overheated. He did a few swipes around the room with his camera, earning him waves and grins from the girls and middle fingers from the boys. Stiles was _also_ acting like this was a regular evening. Scott felt like his head was going to explode. “I’m in charge, so I vote for killer fish!”

“You are in charge like Prada is in charge,” Lydia replied. She and Jackson were wound together on the couch in the middle of the room, lording over their subjects. “All pumped up with false self-importance but no real power. You’re not as house broken as he is, either.”

“Jeez, Lydia, tell me how you really feel. Sure looking forward to all our future family functions when I’m your official brother-in-law."

"Why don't you just tattle to Derek when he gets here?" Jackson asked, sneering. "Also, I don't see a ring on that finger."

"Hurtful," Stiles returned. "Just for that you're sitting at the kiddie table when the time comes. Because believe me, I locked that down a long time ago."

"Gross."

“I’m sorry you’re threatened by our love," Stiles said, blowing kisses at Jackson. “It might not be as pure as the one between you and your lacrosse stick, but it’s still a beautiful thing. Less splinters, too.”

"Focus, people!" Isaac clapped his hands together. " _Jaws_ it is! Just be warned, I _will_ be quoting the entire _Indianapolis_ speech when the time comes." Scott joined in the good-natured groans that met that declaration. He supposed he could play his part for a little while, if he had to be there. Maybe it was better to push down the fear and anger and just go along to get along.

Before long, Scott found himself zoning out of what was happening around him. He vaguely noticed a few classmates leaving; apparently actually staying over at Jackson’s was a bridge too far for their parents. He thought he saw Jackson both leave the room and come back a few times with drinks and snacks; he could play the gracious host when he wanted to. Derek still hadn’t arrived; he saw Stiles pull his phone out of his pocket frequently, but he seemed to relax when he got a text later in the movie. He leaned over and said something to Greenberg, who nodded and left the room, then stood up and walked over to Scott and Allison.

“Hey, buddy, will you be okay for a little bit?  That was Derek, he wants me to pick him up. He said he’s got like, no signal, just enough to send a text.”

“Sounds like something a killer would say if he were texting you over Derek’s dead body,” Allison said, looking up at him. “Do you want someone to go with you?”

Stiles laughed. “No, honestly, it’s fine. He sent the code word, so I know it’s really him. I’ll call you when I get him, okay?”

Scott nodded. “I don’t want to know what that code word is, do I?”

“Not even a little bit. Tell Lydia when she gets back, okay? I think she went to get more drinks.”

Scott nodded, accepting his shoulder clap and watching him as he left. Scott hadn’t noticed that Lydia was no longer in the room; he must be more out of it than he originally thought.

“Did you see Lydia leave?” Scott asked Allison.

“Jackson asked her to get drinks a little while ago. She’s probably making him wait; I heard her say, and I quote ‘What am I, the beer wench?’”

Scott snorted. Lydia and Jackson usually got in at least one fight per party. He and Isaac used to having a running bet as to the hour and the outcome. Scott had been particularly impressed by his own accurate prediction at Lydia’s sixteenth birthday - screaming match by 11:30, two month breakup. If he remembered correctly, that was when Jackson dated Erica. Isaac, however, had predicted their reunion: two dozen roses, a diamond necklace and public groveling. Isaac had even guessed the roses would be pink.

Isaac himself was standing next to the television, a beer in his hand and looking several sheets to the wind. As threatened, he was quoting Quint. “‘Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got... lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eye.’” He said all this with an exaggerated accent while his audience giggled and threw popcorn to shut him up. “‘When he comes at ya, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites ya and-’” His was interrupted by his phone. He reached over and paused the movie while he answered, waving his hands at the boos. “Hey, Danny, why aren’t you here? Jackson is mad at you, he - what? Are you serious?”

Scott sat up, all traces of sleepiness gone. Isaac had a look of horror on his face. He looked over and saw a mirrored expression of apprehension on Allison’s face.

“Okay. Okay, yeah, thanks.” Isaac hung up his phone with shaking hands and faced the rest of the people. He looked like he had completely sobered up during that brief conversation. “That was Danny, obviously. He said - he said Mr. Harris was murdered. Someone burned up the chem lab - with him in it.”

Several gasps met his words, covered mouths, “oh my Gods,” and a few whispered “shits.” Scott felt frozen.

“He said everyone should go home before your parents all start calling. I guess-” One by one, cell phones started ringing, signaling text alerts and no-doubt frantic phone calls.

Jackson had just come back into the room again and he addressed his friends, looking way too at ease for the situation, but probably typical, Scott supposed. Jackson rarely let anyone see him looking frazzled. “Scott, Isaac, you two just stay here. Allison, call your dad and see if he’ll let you stay. Lydia’s around here somewhere, and Stiles should be back with Derek soon.”

“Probably not,” Allison said, as their classmates started leaving. A few of them gave Jackson half-hearted waves or thanks, but most were way too shocked to remember such niceties. Scott knew how they felt. “Derek will need to go to the high school.”

“Yeah, but Stiles has to pick him up and his service is bad, so he might not know yet,” Jackson reasoned. “I know you guys are freaked, but this doesn’t change anything. We’re better off hanging out here together, and there’s no one at your house anyway, Scott.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he replied. He had yet to leave the love seat; Allison’s reassuring presence beside him was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. “Why Harris, though? What does he have to do with anything?”

“I know it’s mean to say, especially right now, but the guy’s a dick,” Jackson said, not looking like he thought it was mean at all. “Is it hard to believe he’d be on a kill list?”

“One that includes me, yeah, it kind of is,” Scott said.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I guess. I mean, it is weird, and it is too bad, but better him than us, right?”

“God Jackson, we know you’re an ass, you don’t have to prove it any more!” Allison said.

“Can we not do this right now?” Isaac said, still standing next to television. The paused shot of Quint looked like he was staring right at Scott. “Things are fucked enough right now. Jackson, go find Lydia. I’m starting to get worried.”

“Actually, me too,” Allison said, rising from their seat. “I’ll come look with you. Maybe she passed out upstairs. You two, stay here and stay together. We don’t know how long ago Harris was killed, and it’s no secret you’re here tonight, Scott.”

“Shit, thanks for that cheery thought,” he whined. “What the hell is happening to us?”

“Don’t worry, Scotty,” Isaac said. He came over to sit in Allison’s spot, slinging an arm around his shoulder and obviously trying to recover his earlier nonchalance. “You’re too pretty to kill.”

“I bet Erica thought that too,” Jackson said. The three of them stared at him, gobsmacked by his insensitivity, but he merely walked out of the living room, throwing a quick, “You coming?” over his shoulder.

“One of these days, Lydia is going to dump him for good and we will all be better for it,” Allison said. She gave Scott a quick kiss and followed Jackson, presumably to look for Lydia upstairs.

“Scott, call Stiles, why don’t you?” Isaac suggested. “I would feel better if he and Derek were here with us. Where did that Greenberg character get to?”

“He left when Stiles left,” Scott answered. “Maybe Stiles sent him back to the hotel to go over footage or something. I don’t actually know what they’ve been working on. He came home for Peter and got distracted by this mess, so it could be anything, or a combination of the two.” As if on cue, his phone rang. “It’s Stiles, good.”

“Scott?” Stiles sounded like he was whispering. “Come find me.”

“What? Where are you, what’s happening?” Isaac snapped his eyes to Scott, gripping his arm tightly.

“I don’t know where I am, I don’t know where Derek is. I'm so cold, and my head hurts."

"Stiles, talk to me, what's around you? Isaac and I will come get you, okay?"

I don't know," Stiles moaned, "but I think - I think there’s someone here with me. No, _don’t_ -”

The call died. “Stiles!” Scott couldn’t help shouting at the phone. He called back, but Stiles’s voice mail immediately picked up. “Shit! What do I do?”

“Call the sheriff,” Isaac demanded. “Sit right here and call him, I’m going to get Allison, Jackson and Lydia, do not move from this seat. I’ll be right back.” Isaac hopped off the loveseat and left Scott alone.

“Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” Scott muttered. “Why are we splitting up like fucking Scooby Doo?” He called the sheriff, but it kept ringing, not even going to voicemail. “Shit! I am not staying here by myself! Isaac, wait!” He yelled the last part, climbing to his feet and following his friend. He was to the front stairs - how the _hell_ had Isaac disappeared so fast?? - and the doorbell rang, making him shout and jump.

“Who’s there?” he called, immediately hating himself for how stupid and weak he sounded. He walked over and opened the door with shaking hands. There was no one there - just a bouquet of pink roses and another mask, lacrosse this time. He slammed the door shut and ran up the stairs. “Isaac! Allison, where are you?”

"Scott!" Isaac came out of a bedroom, looking scared and harried. "I heard the door, who is it? Jackson and Allison are gone, there's blood in the spare room, what the fuck is going on?"

Scott ran to meet him. "What do you mean gone? What blood?" He grabbed Isaac by the shoulders and shook him.

"I don't know!" Isaac practically yelled back. Scott dropped his hands. "It looks like somebody dragged a body across the floor, I can't - I don't know, Scott! They weren't here when I came up, and I checked the rooms, and saw the blood, I called for Ally, but -" He ran his fingers through his hair, and grabbed Scott's hand back. "Come on, they have to be here somewhere."

Scott nodded and turned down the hall, determined to do a thorough search of each room. He couldn’t worry about who was out there right now; their only priority was finding their friends. Scott had his hand on the doorknob to Jackson’s room when the doorbell rang again.

“No!” Scott said to Isaac when he turned towards the stairs. “The killer, he’s out there! He left roses and a mask on the porch, don’t answer it!”

“Shit, what do we do?” Isaac asked. “What if it’s Stiles, or Derek, or someone coming late to the party?”

“What if it’s Jason fucking Voorhees? Stiles wouldn’t knock, Derek wouldn’t knock, we can’t open it!”

“Scott? The door’s locked, let me in!”

“That was Stiles!” Isaac said. He ran down the steps, Scott right behind him. He opened the door - _it wasn’t locked_ , Scott thought, but not quick enough - and threw it open.

Kate Argent stood at the door, holding her cell phone and a silencer-equipped gun. “There’s an app for that. You can sound like anyone.” She pulled the trigger.

Scott stood in shock, unable to believe what his eyes were telling him. Isaac lay still on the floor, blood leaking all over Mrs. Whittemore’s custom parquet foyer.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Kate purred as she walked in and kicked the door shut behind her. She seemed completely unbothered by Isaac lying at her feet. “Long time no see. Allison showed me some new pictures, but they really don’t do you justice. Just look at those adorable brown eyes! You always were a cutie. But don’t worry, your virtue is safe with me. I don’t poach from family.”

"What do you want?" Scott asked. He backed away slowly, trying to shake off his oncoming hysterical paralysis. Maybe he could make a break for the kitchen.

"Whoa there, cowboy!" Kate grinned, bringing her gun up and pointing it at him again. "Don't start getting goofy. You actually have a chance to make it out of here alive, which puts you way ahead of most of our players."

"You're insane," Scott breathed.

"Nah, probably just a personality disorder," Kate said. "I'm not too worried about it, I go to therapy like a good girl. Some things she tells me stick, others..." Kate shrugged as if following her therapist’s orders not to kill just didn’t work out for her.

"Where's Stiles? Where's _Allison_?"

"Stiles Stilinski," Kate practically spat the name out, "is now off the board. He's lucky I didn't send him out like Adrian, but I didn’t really have the time. Don’t worry, it was quickish, and better than he deserved. Choking him to death was probably more satisfying anyway. Derek was unconscious in the garage the whole party and Stiles was right there with him in the dark when he called you."

“I don’t believe you.” He could feel the stirrings of a panic attack approaching and fought it down. He absolutely had to stay in control.

“Oh, did the string of corpses I left behind seem like a joke to you?” Kate smiled again. She looked very beautiful and very dangerous. “Ally did tell me you were struggling in math, but I thought you could put two and two together. Did you not come up with four?”

“Where’s Allison?”

“She’s safe,” Kate assured him. “She was never in danger, and she’ll never be in danger as long as you play by my rules. You have the ability to both live, and get the girl. Not too shabby, especially since you’re the only one who gets both. Well, and me, of course.”

“What do you _want_?” Scott said, sagging against the wall. He needed to keep her talking and he needed her to underestimate him, to make her think he was weak.

“What I’ve always wanted,” she said. She mirrored his posture by leaning back against the front door, deceptively at ease, but making sure to keep her gun trained on him. “I want Beacon Hills back. Derek, my family, the whole nine yards. I used to have a place here until Stiles shook his underaged little ass in Derek’s direction. Then last year, I was working my way back in with Victoria’s help and your mother screwed that up, too.”

He could actually feel the blood drain out of his face. She smirked at his reaction. “Peter makes a good scapegoat. His interest in _Nurse McCall_ wasn’t exactly a secret. The man cannot handle his roofies, either. That’s a Hale trait, actually, or I guess Martin-Hale in Derek's case. He had a tough time with them tonight, too. Last year it made it relatively easy for me to frame Peter.”

“But _why_?”

Kate sneered. “Victoria was the only one besides Allison that was in my corner, certainly more than my own brother. So I don’t take too kindly to someone fucking him behind her back. I don’t like cheaters, Scott, in case you, Derek and Stiles were at all mistaken about that.”

“You’re lying!” Scott struggled, again, to stave off the panic.

“Sorry, sweetie, wish I was. But don’t worry, I didn’t tarnish her precious image. She’s like a goddamn saint around here.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“You can certainly try,” she replied. “But you might want to think long and hard about that. I’ve got your dad, too - I swear, the men in this town are pushovers! A pretty blonde, and poof! Adrian was easy as well - one has to wonder why he was so eager to sell me roofies in the first place, didn’t he assume I would use them on him? Maybe he thought he could slip me one instead, but no matter! You might feel better to know he was already out when I lit him up.”

She shifted slightly against the door and her foot brushed Isaac. Scott thought he saw the barest hint of movement and held on to that hope, allowing it to galvanize him. “Where’s my dad?”

“Tied up and unconscious at the moment, the same way he has been for the past two days,” Kate said brightly. She seemed thrilled to explain everything to him. “He’s a bargaining chip for now - you behave, and he lives. I know it seems this is all about you, Scott, but it really isn’t. I just figured you would make the best damsel in distress. Everyone would be so worried about poor little Scott, so I could focus on my real targets - Stiles and Lydia. I mean, her disapproving ass had to be removed from the equation if Derek and I are going to make a go of it.”

Scott blinked back tears, marveling at the extent of her depravity. He knew - they all knew - that Kate was a bit whacked in the head, but how on earth had she deceived everyone this much? “What about Erica and Boyd? What could they possibly have to do with anything?”

“Oh, that wasn’t really for me,” Kate shrugged. “Unfortunately for them, they got on the wrong side of my accomplice. Isn’t that a great word, _accomplice_? So evil sounding.”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Scott said.

“Now, don’t speak in cliches, Sweetie, don’t be _boring_ , everyone is always so _boring_. Oh, here’s our surprise guest!” Kate cackled, turning away from Scott and looking up the stairs. “What were you doing up there, beating off?”

“They might be skinny, but they’re still heavy,” Jackson said as he came into view. “Besides, I thought you would appreciate my dramatic entrance.”

“I do, handsome,” Kate purred. “But I like the drama of this even better.” Quick as a snake, Kate whipped the gun away from Scott and shot Jackson. Scott shouted, shocked again at her ruthlessness. Jackson’s body tumbled sickeningly down the stairs. “Like I said, Sweetie, the guys in this town are way too easy. Jackson was more than willing to help me out when he thought we would be together, but why would I want to stay with a guy that wants to murder all his exes? That wouldn’t be very smart of me, would it?” She finally left her perch by the door and stood over Jackson’s prone body. “I appreciate the help, handsome, but you’re a little young for me. And besides, Derek and I are endgame. Isn’t that the term?”

Scott tried once again to back away, but Kate stopped him. She left Jackson and came to stand in front of him. She put her hand against the wall, blocking him in while he tried to shrink back from her. “I agreed to off Erica, poor little Jackson was so bitter about her dumping him, and Lydia was always part of the plan, but what would I really want with a sexist little boy like this? I swear, sometimes relationships just aren’t worth it, you know?” She tapped the gun against his forehead. “So, here’s the deal, Sweetie. You call the sheriff, tell him Jackson killed everyone and I saved you, and you collect Allison and Daddy Dearest. I gallop off into the sunset with Derek and we all live happily ever after. I’ll even pay for your therapy bills.”

“Do you honestly think,” a new voice said, “that I wouldn’t wear a bulletproof vest when there’s a killer waltzing around town?” Kate hissed and pulled Scott around, pressing her back against her chest and putting her gun to his temple.

“Lydia,” she said. “Why am I not surprised? I guess checking for a pulse is beyond Jackson. Well, it _was_ beyond him.”

“He’s not too hot with the chloroform, either,” Allison remarked. “Next time pick a better henchman. And assume I’m armed at all times.”

Allison and Lydia came completely down the stairs and stood in the foyer, facing Kate and Scott. Lydia’s dress was covered with blood and Allison had a bruise on her face. She was also holding her mini-crossbow.

“I’m a little embarrassed for you,” Lydia said. “I mean, in your defense, it did come as a great shock to me when Jackson asked for a quickie and then pulled out the gun. I really, really wasn’t expecting it, although I suppose he had been a bit distant lately. I figured we were close to another breakup, and hey! I wasn’t wrong.” She managed to toss her matted hair over her shoulder, wincing slightly at the movement.

Kate tightened her hold on Scott, pulling him even closer against her. “This is definite turn of events. I suppose this is what comes of delegating responsibility. Never send a boy to do a woman’s work and all that.”

“Give it up, Kate,” Allison said, her crossbow even steadier than Kate’s gun. “Let Scott go and you might still escape the death penalty.”

“Ugh, more cliches!” Kate huffed. “I mean, I know Jackson and I used a few movies as blueprints, but I really hoped for more originality from you.”

“How about this? I can hold my breath for a long time, asshole. And Derek’s great at mouth-to-mouth.”

Kate shrieked, pushing Scott away from her as she tried to flip around and shoot Stiles; at the same time, Allison shot her crossbow, hitting Kate in the back of the head. The gun clattered to the floor, Kate landed next to it. Scott bent down, needed to make sure that she was dead. He wasn’t going to mess it up like she had. He didn’t feel a pulse, but turned her body over just in case, wincing as the bow sunk in deeper. She definitely was dead.

“Nice shot, Ally,” Stiles said, shaking voice belying his calm words. “Someone check on Isaac, I think I hear him groaning over there, he should try to fake it a little better like we did.”

Scott stood up and threw his arms around Stiles, hugging him fiercely as Lydia went to Isaac. Scott pulled back slightly to look at Stiles; he had finger-shaped bruises around his neck, and he looked paler than usual, but he was _alive_. He hugged him again.

“Someone call my dad,” Stiles said. “He’s going to be pissed that I came in without backup.”

“What am I?” Derek asked, coming in from the kitchen. He kissed Stiles and clapped Scott on the back before going over to Lydia and Isaac. He pointedly did not look at Kate. He knelt down, hugging his sister and whispering in her ear. Scott saw her wipe away tears and nod. Derek sat all the way down and pulled Isaac into his lap, being careful not to jostle him. Isaac groaned slightly again. “I think he’s going to be okay. It looks like she shot him in the shoulder.”

“Man, she was pretty shit at checking for death,” Stiles said, keeping his arms around Scott. They both welcomed Allison into their hug.

“Jackson’s dead,” Allison said, wiping away her own tears. “So are Erica and Boyd.”

“And my mom,” Scott said softly. Allison brushed his hair back from his face. She looked like her heart was broken, but she gave him a tiny smile.

Stiles pulled away and went to sit on the floor next to Derek. “Jesus, she was crazy. I know it was a while ago, and you were all tortured by your lust for me, but what the hell, Derek get better references or something next time. Sorry, Ally, but she really, really sucked as a person. And Lydia, I’m sorry about Jackson. No one could have predicted that.”

Lydia nodded, keeping her eyes on Isaac.

“Good thing I sent Greenberg home or she probably would have killed him, too.”

“I don’t know where she has my dad!” Scott said, suddenly remembering. What if she lied, what if he were really dead?

“Oh, you think she limited her evil monologuing to you? She blabbed to me after she took my phone, also while she was choking me. In her defense, she did come pretty close to killing me, but she left too soon. Incompetent, really." He shook his head slightly, as if Kate’s behavior was nothing more than slightly baffling, but Scott could tell he was barely keeping it together. In fact, they were all being weirdly calm. He imagined they’d all have their breakdowns later. “She has him at the Holiday Inn, literally two doors down from Greenberg. He’s alive. It’s going to be okay - well, okay-ish, I guess.”

Scott nodded. Okay-ish would have to do for now.

_Epilogue - Eighteen Months Later_

Lydia was still complaining when they left the theater. “Almost a year of therapy so I would be able to sit through that movie, and this is what I get? They made me blonde! Allison has a ninja star! Artistic license my ass! I am going to kill that twerp when I see him! Stiles is dead!”

Scott paused and turned to her. “I’m sorry, I’m going to need a little clarification. You mean that figuratively, right?”

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I used a few direct quotes from Scream, Teen Wolf and Jaws, as well as lyrics from "Blue Moon" and "Moondance." Also, I just couldn't turn Allison into a full-on Billy Loomis (no such problems with Jackson as Stu!) so Kate made a good scapegoat for me.


End file.
